Lazy Days
by Orphia
Summary: A series of one shots with Aziraphale and Crowley


Reminiscing 

It was May in St James' park and the usual vague drizzle was replaced, for this afternoon only, with glorious sunshine. The ducks were too warm to beg for crumbs, and instead lingered lethargically in the shade*. Bees ambled casually along the borders, a proboscis here, a proboscis there, drinking up nectar like sunlight in the glow of the afternoon.

Two apparent men, one with a horrendous taste in knitwear, the other wearing sunglasses legitimately for once, strolled under the shade of the great oak as they sat at their accustomed bench.** "I reject that out of hand," declared Crowley (for of course it was he) plonking himself gracefully upon the weary wooden planks, "da Vinci was a much better dancer than Christopher Wren." Aziraphale looked at him in confusion.

"I thought we were debating who was the better architect?"

Crowley waved a hand in general dismissal, "That too. I was taking a holistic view of things." He took another swig from the bottle of rather fine vintage port before returning to the point. "Did you never see old Leo on the dance floor? He had rhythm." He nodded his head appreciatively.

Aziraphale confiscated the bottle, and took a swig himself. "He kept falling over!"

Crowley smirked. "That was only because I got him astonishingly drunk first. You know he tried to drink me under the table?" He gave a brief snort of derision.

Aziraphale frowned slightly.

"Don't you ever feel guilty about that? We did distract him a bit…***"

"Meh. He would have distracted himself anyway. Geniuses. They either stick to one thing for 20 years or flit between projects faster than Archimedes went through towels."

"You did keep stealing them."

"What? An old guy run down the street nude every time he has an idea is hell for the traffic. And hilarious."

Aziraphale sighed.

Crowley reached into his bag, one of the ducks peered up hopefully. These two were a mixed bag, but if it was a good day…

He handed a small rectangular package to his companion.

The angel carefully unwrapped some brown paper and took out a perfectly preserved book.

The duck thought expletives to itself very loudly, before tucking its head into its feathers with disdain.

Aziraphale stroked the cover protectively.**** "If you don't mind me asking, my dear, how did you come across the first draft of Faustus?"

"Well angel, I was hanging with Marlowe, trying to explain the whole temptation gig, and he was like that sounds great! I could use that!" He wrinkled his forehead, "Then I suggested a few edits, and then a few more, and we were both drunk, and I had bought quite a few rounds, and he offered me the script to cover his tab. He woke up with a splitting headache and a vague recollection of the plot." He tapped the cover with his finger, "This version's the best though. He left out all my jokes in the others."

Said angel patted his shoulder sympathetically. "As I recall, so did Shakespeare. I remember your plan for "Hamlet- the musical"."

"Hey it was shorter than the original. Now there's a guy who needed to listen to his editor."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow "You were his editor."  
"Exactly. Pompous arse. Wouldn't put one fart joke into King Lear. I told him, I said, come on Will, the crowd'll love it, but would he listen?" He shrugged exasperatedly.

"Least you got him to remove the pantomime cow from Henry V."

"Yeah. Really didn't fit with the whole "to the breach" thing, even if they did get the costume dirt cheap."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, as the coolish breeze wafted through the trees, there was a hint of bird song as the bees continued their rounds. They both downed some more port.

"Thank you for the book," said Aziraphale eventually, "I really appreciate it."  
"Nah, it was just cluttering up the back room. Might as well go to someone with a use for it."

Aziraphale smiled. "I always said you're decent at heart."

"Am not." Replied Crowley irritably. He snapped his fingers hastily.

"What did you do?"

There had been no obvious change. Then he noticed the bees. Their previous regular movements became more… clumsy. They began weaving and colliding with each other. Even their buzzing sounded slightly slurred.

"Crowley, you didn't?"

The demon pertained to look innocent.*****

"Alcoholic nectar? Really?"

"Your side did it first. Water into wine and all that."

Aziraphale snapped his fingers.

"You're so boring. Why do I put up with you?"

"The alternative of a thousand years of only Below to talk to would drive you mad?"

Crowley gave a stretch and a yawn and had another swig.

"When you put it like that. Fancy the Ritz, angel?"

"Why not?" They stood up and linked arms to steady themselves.

Crowley raised a sinister eyebrow. "Notice how I tempted you to gluttony there?"

The angel smiled indulgently. "Very evil."

"You gotta start small." Even with the support, Crowley was weaving slightly. "Work your way down."

"Fine, but if you're doing the tempting then you have to pay."

Crowley shook an unsteady finger, chiding. "Sneaky angel, manipulating me."

They walked off together, bickering as they went.

The bees had an awful hangover the next morning.

*Perhaps the French attaché's brioche could tempt them out, but the Portuguese ambassador's stale bagel just was not worth the effort

** Until shortly before they arrived, there had actually been a Russian double agent, and a Swedish triple agent occupying that particular bench, but as the two approached, they had both begun to feel inexplicably uncomfortable and had moved to a corner café near Soho they both knew instead.

***Correction- they distracted him a lot. It was a wonder Renaissance Florence was still standing by the time Crowley had explained the concept of a rave.

****You could almost hear him muttering "My precious" under his breath

*****About a successfully as Columbus circumnavigating the globe


End file.
